


Hands-on learning

by Kinkerbell-made-me-do-it (TheMusicalCC)



Category: Book of Life (2014)
Genre: Comfort, F/M, First Time, Porn with Feelings, Vaginal Fingering, self-consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-12 19:47:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16878084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMusicalCC/pseuds/Kinkerbell-made-me-do-it
Summary: Scars and complexes and so much to learn.





	Hands-on learning

**Author's Note:**

> Transferred from Tumblr.

As much as it shames him to admit it, sporting the body the punishment had left him with was way easier while wearing his armor. Xibalba isn’t sure if it has to do with being a remain of what his life had been like before the fire, of the old him, but acting over-confident and in control sure comes easier to him with the old plates over his body. He can still spill the sleekest words from his mouth, spare charming smiles here and there and everywhere and, generally, forget the edges and crooks of his actual shape with it.

But now, in the cool air of his quarters, he can honestly say he’s never been more self-conscious, as La Muerte breaks the kiss where each others’ breath had replaced air, and her hands trace the sides of his ribs softly. Half-lidded eyes on his blackened bones and glowing ectoplasm, lips bruised by contact, and half opened in shaky breaths. Xibalba sets his jaw, face hot, and tenderly catches her hands, trying to pry them away and she lets him, bright eyes meeting his in silent interrogation. What can he say? That he’s feeling too exposed before her, too vulnerable? She’s just as naked as he is, sitting on top of the bed-sheet, curtains of black hair framing her sugary skin and a slight blush in her face and neck…but perhaps that’s it precisely; when stripped of everything she’s still magnificent, she can still make his heart skip a beat. Him? He feels insignificant. Inadequate.  _Ugly_. One of her hands trails up to cradle the side of his face for a moment.

“If…you don’t want to…” La Muerte murmurs in a voice that sounds uncharacteristically timid. He almost laughs.

“You think I don’t want to?”

Xibalba’s tone is incredulous, mouth twisting slightly in an amused manner, eyes trailing up and down the spiraling patterns of her body in a way that makes a delighted shiver run through her because it’s so full of _want_. Raw and unadulterated in the flashing reds of his eyes and a hand that trails over her hipbone, grasping at her flesh almost hungrily…but still quivering.

“Well, then…” she purrs, playful fingers tracing up his arms gently to come wrap behind his neck, forcing him to come closer and do just what he’s yearned to do. Her chest presses to his and her heartbeat thumps against him, and he’s light-headed and eager and their teeth clash slightly when he crashes against her again, losing himself in the hot wetness of her mouth, grinding his pelvis against her and trying not to lose his head when the movement makes her breath come out hard.

But when once again her hands untangle behind his neck and start to make their way to his shoulders and down, he tenses up and tries to catch them. She breaks the kiss and looks at him, confusion painted all over her features. The unspoken fear that it’s her inexperience that holds him back hangs heavily above her, but she wants this, she wants it like she had no idea she could, and she’s not sure it’s an emotional need as much as a hunger, a gravity pulling her body to him.

“What’s wrong?”

Xibalba mouths for a moment, eyes shifting guiltily.

“I’m just…” he remembers his old form again and mentally compares to what there is now and he turns away from her puzzled expression with a sinking feeling, all but groaning in frustration at his inability to just say what’s on his mind when it matters. Baring his body is one thing -one he’d hesitated enough to do until tonight, when he was too intoxicated by her kisses and her voice and all of her to care- but baring his insecurities makes him feel beyond pathetic. This is crazy, he is crazy, to think someone like her would ever want–!

A hand softly runs over his feathers and his back arches the slightest, a small groan almost escaping his lips. La Muerte’s as surprised by his reaction as he is at the touch that lingers upon the scarred expanse. She breaches the distance between them, her breath tickling the back of his neck, letting the impulse to touch, the hunger for contact pool within her for a moment. He swallows and then her touch shoots upward, ruffling his feathers delightfully. He opens both wings as though by reflex and she’s encouraged by the gesture, bringing herself closer, close enough to press against his back and feathers, and latch her mouth bellow his neck, only a few inches above the point where his shoulder-blades turn to feathers. A shaky moan escapes him, hands bunching and tugging at the bed-sheets beneath him, wings and pelvis twitching.

“ _M-muertita_ …” he chokes out. Oh,  _Gods_ , her free hand ghosts down his back -the touch is soft, playful even, he can’t quite bite back the airy vocals escaping his mouth at it- then around his side, slowly, coming down, dangerously close to his hip-bone, where it stutters and then heads back up until it rests just above his racing heart. He smirks the slightest “A-and here I thought I was the expert”

She hums softly, not missing the jab at her hesitance to touch him anywhere too  _risqué_ , before letting her teeth graze softly over his shoulder-blade and a long drag of fingertips and nails against his feathers that makes him squirm helplessly.

“You’re not all that difficult to read, Xibalba” she whispers breathily, letting her other hand drift to the base of his wings. The reaction she’s getting from him is new to her but she’s nothing if not a quick learner, and when she reaches the exact point where his wings emerge from his body he sucks air in hard and she lets out a low, inviting laughter, lower stomach tingling “Specially not when you’re so eager”

Eager as he is, there is also another thought in his mind. His hand finds the one she holds over his heartbeat, prying it off ectoplasm as thought despite himself, unsure of where to put it next because he doesn’t feel anywhere would be good. The sight of her pale fingers wrapped by his own claw-like, blackened hand makes him slightly breathless.

“What is it?” she asks softly.

“You’re so beautiful”

A blush that’s not necessarily arousal fills her face.

“And?”

“And I’m…” he looks at their hands again and she peeks over her shoulder for a moment and-  _Oh_. Oh, she could slap him, her arms envelope him, pressing him flush against her chest.

“I love you” her voice is low, barely above a mutter, but he can hear her clearly and his very blood seems to jolt excitedly “…you–  _grandísimo pendejo_ ”

“I’m not…what I used to be…” he confesses between breaths. So much for not becoming too vulnerable.

“So?” she breathes against him, and lets her hand trail down again, letting it reach his thigh. He gasps, squirming.

“Do you…” he licks his lips “Really want…?”

For all answer she kisses the point where her mouth presses against him and moves her hand up slowly, savoring his reaction and the feeling of him -hot and shivery and  _hers_ \- under her palm and fingers. His mouth breathlessly mutters in approval when her hand reaches somewhere specially sensitive, as she massages him for a while, until she can thread her fingers on his feathers again and hear him let out a tortured, shaky breath.

“ _Mi amor…_ ” he growls, his tone is tinged with a warning, or a plea.

“ _Ay,_ Xibalba” a kiss presses right above his shoulder, lips delaying there for a second too long, and he breathes in harshly. She feels feverish, in the midst of a haze of heat where she can’t help but voice what the coiling tension of her body wants to say, more ardent with the fresh memory of his body under her hands “ _Mi Balbi_ …”

A curse escapes his gritted teeth as she moves to his nape, nuzzling him before landing a soft kiss, hand stroking his wing one last time before she lifts it to massage his shoulder, squeezing. He grits his teeth but his voice still makes it out, raspy and quivery.  _Dioses_ , what this woman could do with just a kiss and a touch! She strokes his wing one more time, following the dim line of a scar tenderly and then teleports in front of him in a flurry of golden petals, making him start both in surprise and half-concealed excitement.

“Let me show you…” she whispers. For a moment he’s too confused (Isn’t he the expert here?) to even respond. Her hands cradle his face to land a kiss on his forehead, and then his jaw, and then the pressure point over his neck, and then his collarbone and– he grunts, trying to keep himself from moaning as her lips make a tingling path over his ribs, nudging him so he has to move to his back to give her access, barely supporting himself on elbows and wings, her body trapped between his open, quivering legs with his erect member pressing against her as she moves further down. She brushes hair out of her eyes to kiss his stomach as well, grazing teeth to where the dip of his navel should be and then trailing to the side to kiss his hipbone softly, not missing the shiver that runs through him. For a maddening moment, she considers the possibility to keep going down, but nervousness bites at her stomach and instead, she coaxes herself back up, nuzzling his navel, licking lightly over his sternum and nibble over his collarbone.

“Show me what?” he finally asks in a whisper, trying not to think about how close she’d ben to…how she almost-

“Idiot” she mutters, sparkling eyes looking up to him. He doesn’t even know where to place his hands as she shifts to straddle him, soft flesh brushing against his ardent, sensitive length, one second wanting to press her hips to him and grind, the next to be gentle, as she slides the kiss to his jaw and her fingers trail to his wings “Do I need…to spell it out for you?”

Once again, he finds himself squirming delightedly, arching into her, his hand exploring the curve of her hip for a moment before moving to her backside, squeezing and pressing her closer to him. She gasps against him and the damp feeling of her against his own skin makes his head spin. But then, as if to add another element to this haze of bliss spreading through him, she breathes into his ear.

“I love you…with every fiber of my being"

Words are just words, he knows that. She could well be saying something she doesn’t mean. And yet, his heart skips a beat and he feels as though filled to the brim with bubbles. Is this what true joy feels like? He tries to remember if the wedding was also like that, but truly he was too nervous to feel anything else. But then…the kiss; their first as man and wife. Yes, it had felt very much like this.

Except now there is also heat pooling in his lower belly and no clothes or guests in his way.

Giddiness gives his movements a spring as he flips them both, trapping La Muerte against the mattress. Taking a moment to relish her surprised and pleased expression before letting his hands move, one of them enveloping her, hugging her closer and supporting his weight on his elbow beneath her, the other slithering to the space between her legs, her thighs pressing shut, bringing him closer to her damp, hot core instinctively. Nervousness is still resting within her like a cold snake in the pit of her stomach, but the heat is also there, powerful and primal. She gasps when a long finger teases and pries at her sensitive flesh -’ _Yes. More_ ’ commands the heat- and he chuckles, his voice low, again in control and enjoying it.

“Should I slow down?” he settles comfortably, his body still hovering over her mostly, but his weight resting to the side on one arm and wing. A curse escapes her lips, fingers grasping at his arm. The head of his cock is rubbing against her inner thigh and she moves, teasing him in turn, making him grunt and he sinks his face on the side of her head, buried in the scent of her hair.

“You don’t know what you do to me, woman”

“I might have a good idea, actually” she says between breaths, digging fingers into his arm.

“Do you?” she can identify the smirk as surely as if she were seeing it. A soft kiss presses to her hair and the caress between her pressed thighs gains some speed, making her arch onto him, mouth hanging open in a soft whine “Let me show you”

Weren’t she enjoying it, she’d probably be a bit embarrassed at how wet she is, at how easy and sleek the circles he’s drawing into her are. Her pelvis pushes against his hand hungrily and she’s moaning, almost without realizing, hands tightening around his arm and the bedsheets. Xibalba breathes hard, reacting to her pleasured noises, his own hips bucking forward onto her soft flesh. Every touch sends an electric-like shiver throughout her limbs and white floods the edges of her vision and seems to bunch tension within her insides, one that cries for a release she pursues without quite knowing how to reach. Her mouth half-forms a word but she bites it back before it can come out completely.

“What’s that,  _Muertita_?” Xibalba asks, his voice rumbling within her “Are you enjoying this?” he slows down for a moment, pressing his touch harder against her and she lets out a tortured whine that’s almost a ‘Yes’ but not quite “Do you want me to go further?”

She bites her lip, trying to retain even just a shred of dignity, and nods. The throaty chuckle that leaves his mouth vibrates within her as he nuzzles her for another second. Then dips his head slightly to kiss her jaw, before he shifts his body closer to let a finger enter her and the pent-up noise that escapes her makes her feel like her face is on fire. He, on the other hand, finds it adorable, entering her further, palm still rubbing her lips and clitoris with maddening delicacy.

“Oh–! Xibalba…!” her chest heaves up and down, head rolling back, unconsciously granting him easier access so he can latch his mouth to the underside of her jaw, over a sensitive spot on her neck that makes her muscles contract around his curling finger for a moment “ _Ay_ ,  _por los Dioses–_! Don’t stop!”

He grunts as he shifts to free his arm from beneath her and trails his mouth further down, sweetness on his tongue as he follows the spiraling patterns. He wants to give her the same message she has given him, through caresses and kisses, all the adoration he holds for her. His free hand cradles her torso as he passes over her breasts, sparing them a light nibble that tears the air from her lungs, across her stomach, letting his mustache tickle her navel, not stopping the pumping of his finger inside of her. When he reaches her hipbone, he nips his teeth into it lightly and La Muerte lets out a groan, her hands falling onto his head, pressing him closer. If he wanted any affirmation that she’s liking what he’s doing, it’s there. His mouth trails further down, kissing a path until he reaches her clitoris and wraps his lips around it and  _sucks_. Her fingernails dig into his skull, hips bucking onto him, needy, as he alternates between licks and kisses and even grazes his teeth lightly, making her legs quiver and fumble, as if unable to decide whether to open wider or wrap around him. For a moment, she can’t even think straight, so overwhelming it’s the pleasure he’s giving her, so much is the hot, wet pressure pooling within her, for which she searches for a release she still doesn’t quite know how to get. Sweat sticks her hair to her skin and long quivery breaths escape her lips, and she can feel the vibration of his low laughter into her skin when her hips roll in response to the attention. She reaches for his mustache and tugs from it softly, just once

“You damn tease!”

“Would you rather I skip for the main event?” he asks, looking up to her, letting his finger curl within her insides slowly. Another moan escapes her, and her hips roll again, almost despite herself “I’m sorry, I don’t think I caught that”

“ _Pendejo_ ” she hisses, throwing him a scorching glare, and there’s annoyance in her tone, but also a primal, deep hunger. He teases her core further and she arches the slightest “Ah-!  _Hijo de-_! Just…I want…“ something that’s almost a whimper escapes her lips, and she blushes darker, trying to bite it back. He kisses her mound softly, lifting himself back to her chest.

"Yes?”

She breathes out, struggling to ease herself back into a state of mind where she can speak, her fingers still digging into his skull. He lands soft kisses on her skin as though to calm the flames his own ministrations lit, his finger still pumping slowly within her flesh.

“I…” her blood sings in her chest, and in her ears, and in her fingertips and palms when she cradles his face with a tenderness that contrasts the biting, urgent hush of her words “…I need you right now”

Wow. Even his wildest dreams didn’t compare to hearing the actual words coming from her mouth. He withdraws his finger and almost trips with himself climbing back to her face to give her a kiss in which she could taste herself, before lifting himself on his knees, positioning at her entrance, grasping her thighs to spread them.

“I’ve wanted this for so long, my love” he breathes, tip of his member brushing against her maddeningly moist lips, letting his hands wonder freely. La Muerte gasps in anticipation, biting back a comment because she’s not sure if she wants to say the sentiment is shared or something less sweet -something along the lines of 'Shut up and do it already’- before he nudges gently, entering her with care and the aid of his own hand. The sensation is so strange to her that, at first, even with his gentle and slow pumps, it’s hard to feel any pleasure at all. Xibalba’s half-lidded eyes are set on her, cautious for any sign that he should stop, palms spread over the inside of her thighs, sparing them touches that make her flesh quiver. It takes her a couple of seconds of deep breaths and Xibalba’s low voice hushing her softly as he moves for her to relax and start truly enjoying.

He goes slowly. Agonizingly, deliciously, maddeningly gentle bucks of his hips into her. It makes her want to bite him, scratch him, tug from his beard or mustache, but at the same time coaxes her own body into a sway, like that of the waves upon the seashore. His wings flutter with every push. And it’s deep, so deep that for a moment she’s a little scared. But it’s also warm, and joyful, and his arms surround her and his heartbeat drums against her chest. And she will probably never admit it out loud but she feels  _safe_  there. Her mouth starts spilling the most beautiful, obscene noises, sounds that are just for his ears. He could lose his mind just looking at her like this, so bare and vulnerable and receptive. When his name escapes her mouth almost in a whimper, he curses, his rhythm speeding for a moment, thrusting deeper- she moans hard and he looks at her in alarm, perhaps fearing he’d hurt her. But it’s pleasure that lights her features and makes her mouth hand open for a moment, and when she looks to him with eyes foggy with pleasure and pulls him to her for a kiss it’s clear he’s doing something right. Claw-like fingers move to grasp at the bedspread at either side of her body tightly and there’s only so much he can do not to let lose at the sole sensation of her warmth around him and the sound of her pleasured voice and this mouth upon him that bites and soothes and drinks and gives…

"Are you…?” he starts breathily when they part the kiss and he lifts himself over her on his elbows.

“Good-  _Great_!” she breathes back at him, her hands traveling down his ribs once again. He groans when she trails her fingernails on his sides and she does it again, her voice gaining a playful tinge “My. Did I find a sensitive area?”

“Who is the tease now?” he half-chides, before letting his mouth explore her neck again, right under the angle of her jaw, the spot that makes her squirm furiously. Her retort is lost in her moans.

He lets his pace pick up the slightest, his movements gaining strength. His wings hang open above them, quivery and tense, too tense to even flap, the muscles of his lower belly seeming to tie into a knot. He’s coming close. Whether she knows it or not, she’s letting her voice carry louder, trembling legs locking around him, her hips moving to meet his own eager thrusts. He sets his jaw and tries to think of lava or ash or anything but the need for release he’s currently feeling but it’s at that moment that La Muerte opens her eyes, previously shut in a mix of bliss and the slightest bit of nervousness and looks at him straight in the eye and there is only so much a man can take.

He grunts, and holds her tight on one arm, supporting himself on the bed with the other, and lets his pelvis push harder into her despite his intentions to keep things gentle for her sake. She doesn’t seem to protest, quite on the contrary, her voice carries louder and her hands travel to his back, fingernails digging into his ectoplasm as his wings flap erratically above them. The bed creaks and its headboard slams against the wall and he briefly wonders if anyone can hear them and just as quickly decides he doesn’t care. He’s beyond anything that is not her and her voice and her body and  _oh, rayos, oh for everything holy and unholy in the thirteen realms, he’s-_

He pushes again with a loud, tortured groan, his insides unknotting with a satisfying release of pressure. Bunching the bedspread with one hand and all but arching into her, his eyes blinking tight shut, wings wide open. His body’s tense, from his forehead to the tip of his toes, and even as he relaxes onto her, he can all but feel tar-for-muscles unwinding, softening. She’s innocent to these matters (Granted, not quite as much as he’d suspected) but not enough to be completely ignorant of what just happened. Her hand hesitantly caresses his nape, her chest upon which he’s buried his face rising and falling, her heartbeat still a wild drum. There’s the slightest bit of humiliation when he raises her eyes to her, face burning, brow furrowed as though in a glare.

“You’re too much, woman” he doesn’t miss the glow of pride in her smile when he says this, face all but pink.

“Do you…do you need a moment?” she says. She doesn’t seem to be mocking him, but he’s not completely sure.

“Taking pride, aren’t we?” he whispers as he starts moving again, supporting himself on one arm to let his free hand fall on her breast, pinching her nipple softly.  At this point he feels like he’s fueled by pride alone and he knows himself enough to tell that’s most likely exactly it. La Muerte would be surprised at such a quick recovery, but soon there is just too much, too much going on with her body for her to worry about anything but feeling it, the pressure that had been building within her piling up again, as though it hadn’t been interrupted. And now it’s  _fuller_ , her sex dripping with something warm and sticky and the sole thought that she knows what it is-! Oh, it’s almost enough to drive her wild on its own “Because you’re so absolutely  _gorgeous_  when you’re like this…that I couldn’t hold back any longer…”

“ _Balbi_!” she cries, grasping his nape and back, nails digging tender paths upon them, he interrupts the firm squeezes he’s sparing her breast to drag his hand down.

“Here?” He mutters, palm over her ribs, and then her navel “Here? Or perchance…” he lets it trail further below until it’s pressed between her thighs. Shelets out a pent-up grunt that he immediately hungers to hear again “Make that sound again and I just might lose my mind”

There is something indescribably erotic in the way her voice seems to catch on her throat his time, louder. He growls, fingers pinching her sensitive flesh lightly, before pressing and rolling and rubbing.

“Oh,  _Muertita…”_

She has to bite down against his collarbone to prevent herself from screaming, before pressing her back down into the mattress to make her hips meet his thrusts and his hand. He keeps muttering into her hair, and she can’t even make out the words anymore, so loud is her blood on her ears; she holds him even closer. It feels like she wants to melt him to her own flesh and there is something like butterflies in his stomach at the thought. Her mouth spills a multitude of words he doesn’t recognize, until-

“Oh, Xibalba, _Balbi_ ,  _mi amor_ , I-!”

Her body convulses for a moment, every muscle tensing, eyes blinking shut. Stars explode behind her eyelids and there is a wet-hot, pulsating pleasure where Xibalba’s still pushing into her, slowing down. It takes her a moment to realize the loud cry filling the room comes from her own mouth, and she doesn’t mind it half as much as she normally would. Her fingers ache with how strong her grasp on his shoulders is, and her feet and toes tingle and shiver with how tense her legs are. Her heart feels like it can break out of her chest and fly away.

She feels like she might die…and it feels amazing.

When she can open her eyes –and the edges of her vision are still slightly white- her husband is looking down at her under heavy eyelids, as though drinking down the sight of her ecstasy, his hips finally going still. Only when he moves his hand up to soothe over her stomach and ribs can she let her body relax. Exhaustion washes over her, going limp in satisfied drowsiness. Sweat and heat seems to merge sugar and tar together as he lays to her side, still hugging her close, still intertwined.

“Are you alright, my love?” he asks breathily, the softness of his voice seeming strange after this loud ordeal “Are you feeling well, or…?”

She nuzzles his face softly, giddy and groggy

“More than well” she mutters.

“So it seems” he chuckles, brushing strands of black hair out of her eyes before landing a kiss over one of her eyelids. For a moment she fears this rush of affection announces another round; she’s feeling much too tired after her climax. However, he seems more interested in having her close than anything else, wrapping one of his wings beneath her. Xibalba is a cuddler? Now she  _is_  surprised. But his embrace is warm and his feathers are soft and she feels so very sleepy. And to be honest, she doesn’t mind that he’s being so clingy because she’s feeling kind of clingy herself. She even feels the slightest bit disappointed when he pulls out from within her (She registers a sound that’s even a little comical and she has to bite back a laugh) and grapples at the messy bed-spread to wrap them both in it. His arms are around her again, more than welcome, but she shifts to place herself a tad higher on the bed and pillow, and untangles his limbs from her. She’s a kicker, she’s always been, and if he doesn’t give her space he might regret it later. He makes no comment on it, choosing to make himself comfortable instead. 

La Muerte barely cracks her eyes open again to gaze at him as he settles on the pillow, minding his neck. Her husband. Nervousness bites at her insides again. Aren’t they supposed to talk? She isn’t sure of what to say right now, but she has a feeling she should know.  _Oh, by all the Gods, we are married._  Now she’s antsy and she can’t really tell if it is anxiousness or joy. Her hand moves towards his and she lays it there, his fingers surrounding hers as though they were meant to.

“Are you happy?” he suddenly asks, not completely able to mask his sudden twinge of insecurity.

“W-what?” she blurts, taken by surprise, but when he’s starting to turn to her in worry, she adds “Yes! Yes…very”

And she is. Warm and content and tired. Her thighs are sticky and still quivery, and she’s a little sore but not in a bad way. He grins to himself, self-sufficent and closes his eyes.

“Good”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not entirely sure of why feelsy porn just kept coming to me when I wrote these two, it just did.


End file.
